The Faintest Ink (Watty Winner 2015)

Chapter Twenty-One

Sparks flew as Lady Fae ran for the stairs. She was still holding the poker and the metal bounced against the cold stone as she went. She didn't know if the squire was following her, and she didn't turn around to check. All she could think about was the princess and what that dastardly Sir Hilton might be doing to her. Grotesque images flared behind her eyes. It was too horrible. She gritted her teeth. Lady Fae knew exactly what she was going to do with the poker.

At the top of the stairs she turned right, only then realising how far away she had been placed from the princess' chamber. She would have known nothing until the morning, and by then it would have been too late. With the thick walls of the manor house, any calls for assistance would have been lost to the night.

Lady Fae redoubled her efforts, her hand clamped around the hilt of the poker. By the will of the gods, she'd kill them all if she had to.

She smelt him before she saw him. The pungent stink of cheap wine wafted down the corridor. He was slumped in a low chair, his legs stuck out before him like a child's doll, the buttons of his doublet left half undone, exposing the shirt beneath. A candle, balanced precariously on the arm of the chair was burnt low, the flame dancing widely as the tallow smouldered and bubbled onto the wood.

Wheezing, Lady Fae staggered forward and swung the poker round so that it hit the chair legs. Lord Wallia jerked awake with a snort.

"Where is she?" said Lady Fae.

He blinked at her stupidly, his eyes wet from drink.

"The Princess," said Lady Fae, lacking the patience to wait for his mind to catch up.

He frowned. "In her chamber. Of course."

Lady Fae's eyes darted to the door. It wasn't the most beautiful of structures, but the thick oak looked strong, and it was tightly shut. "And no one else has gone in?"

He shook his head, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand like a child. "No." He frowned, and then, as an idea struck him, patted his great stomach. "Got the key right here."

Lady Fae held out her hand. "Give it to me."

Lord Wallia's lip twitched. "What's that now?"

"I need to check on the princess."

"She's sound asleep. It's been a long day." He shifted his weight. "Very long."

"She just found out that her father is dead," she said.

Lord Wallis snorted, then catching Lady Fae's expression, lowered his eyes.

"What was that?"

He cleared his throat. "It's just, if you ask me, that girl was more concerned about her crown than her father."

"And well she might. May I remind you that she is not that girl, she is your future Queen."

"Always on the defensive, Lady Fae." He leaned forward, his sleeve coming dangerously close to the candle's flame. "Do you think she'll even remember you when she ascends the throne," he said in a low voice, as if frightened of being overheard. Lady Fae glanced around to see if anyone was listening in. The passageway was still. "A nice little chair at the council chamber for her old governess, is that what you are expecting? Or a palace in the capital to enjoy your retirement?" He smirked and shook his head. "You'll be forgotten, Lady Fae. She won't think of you again once that crown is placed on her head. You'll be sent back to Whitfair Marsh and be nothing more than a note in the court diaries. The brilliant student of the great Sir Waldebugger, who amounted to nothing."

"Sir Waldeborough," said Lady Fae.

"That's not what I heard."

Lady Fae decided to ignore that last comment. Then she frowned. Wallia was still staring at her. His skin looked like blistered meat in the candlelight, but it was his eyes that revolted her. He'd always struck her as a snivelling sort of man, one given to prostrating himself in front of anyone who might offer him a bauble or trinket, and yet there were tales: stories of his wives. Three of them, replaced as quickly as courtesans in his desire to have a son. The first two had disappeared, with no efforts made from the masters to find them. Lord Wallia's powers must run very deep to have control of them.